She was falling—no, drifting really. Drifting down through darkness, blackness so thick she couldn't tell if her eyes were open or not. Still she knew she was spiraling downwards. She could feel the air push up against her back and then slither over the folds of her clothes, tickling the tiny bits of bare skin it came in contact with. Where had she fallen from? The memory flickered in the distance, teasingly. She squinted at it, scrunching her eyes tight, but it failed to come into focus. So she let it slip away. She wouldn't need it anyway. Not where she was going. Where was she going?
Everyone has gone away
Can you hear me? Can you hear me?
No one cared enough to stay
Can you hear me? Can you hear me?
You must remember me old man
I know that you can if you try
So just open up your eyes old man
Look who's come to say goodbye.
And then suddenly there was the ground beneath her. She slammed into it violently and waves of pain shot through her entire body. Along her spine, down her arms and legs, into her fingers and toes and even through the roots of her hair. All the air in her lungs exploded out of her mouth and refused to be dragged back in. She tried to gasp for oxygen but her lungs felt as if they were being squeezed and twisted. The darkness she was buried in grew heavier and crushing.
The world is a vampire.
Sent to drain.
Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames
And what do I get, for my pain?
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game.
Even though I know—I suppose I'll show
All my cool and cold-like old job
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.
Her eyes snapped open and darkness encased her on all sides, filling even the space inside of her head. Numbness ran along the entire length of her body, paralyzing her. She gasped, dragging air into lungs that felt frozen and struggled to move. Only the left side of her body responded and it sent her tumbling off into empty space. A moment later she hit solid ground, her legs tangled in some unseen object. Panic came surging forward, followed by a barrage of questions. Where was she? Why couldn't she move? Was she dreaming? Was she dead?
Ah'm dead, aren't Ah? Jesus, jesus – Ah didn't want to die. What the fuck happened?
I hope it was a classy death, a quiet voice murmured in the back of her mind.
Well, I friggin' hope we went out with a bang, declared another voice.
Christ, you people are morbid. Nobody died. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this, said a third voice firmly.
Looky here, folks! Mr. Anal Retentive is even anal retentive when he doesn't have an anus! The second voice sneered.
You know what? You're a real asshole sometimes.
Ooooo, that's gonna leave a mark. Really, hold back. You're gonna hurt my feelings. I feel a tear.
Rogue's eyes darted around wildly, trying to find some kind of anchor to hold on to, something that would give her some sort of grip. Fear was washing over her, allowing her to ignore the otherwise annoying fact that there was more than one voice inside her head talking to her.
And then suddenly, burning brightly in the blackness like two flames, were a pair of crimson orbs. She stared into them and the fear began to slowly drain away.
Light abruptly shattered the darkness and Rogue snapped her eyes shut.
"Like, oh my god Rogue! Are you like okay?"
Kitty's shrieking voice flowed over her with welcome relief. If Kitty was there, then there was no way she was dead. No god was THAT cruel. Rogue opened her mouth to speak but found her throat too dry to do more than cough weakly. She heard the thumping of footsteps, and then the rushing of water. A moment later she heard Kitty's voice again.
"Here. Drink this."
Slowly opening her eyes, Rogue found a plastic cup of water floating above her. She struggled to get into a sitting position but her limbs refused to obey her. Kneeling down, Kitty slid an arm around the Southern girl, careful to keep their skin apart, and gently propped her up against her bed. Then she lifted the cup again. Rogue put her lips to the rim of the cup and drank slowly, wrinkling her nose at the toothpaste taste. Why was it that water from a bathroom sink always tasted like peppermint toothpaste?
Finally she pushed the cup away with her nose and took a deep breath. Kitty set the cup on the nightstand next to her.
"Are you okay?" she asked, pushing back her long dark hair.
Rogue leaned her head back against the bed and shook it. "Ah can't move, Kitty."
"Hold on. I'm like, gonna go get Mr. McCoy. I'll be right back."
And with that promise the shadowcat slipped through the floor, leaving Rogue alone. Well. Not completely alone. She was never completely alone anymore.
See? I told you we weren't dead.
Oh shut the . . . .
#
Hunched outside, the balls of his feet resting lightly against a tree limb, Remy kept his burning eyes trained on the inside of the room. Part of his brain informed him that there wasn't any reason for him to stay there. It was obvious that the valley girl had gone to get help. Not that Rogue really needed it. Wolverine's healing powers had kicked in almost the moment after he had so easily snapped the cord that connected her mind with the rest of her body. Still, that half a moment when he had waited to feel her pulse kick back to life had scared the living shit out of him. For a second he had thought that maybe he had gambled and the cards had come up short. She was so pale. So. . . fragile.
But then there hadn't been anything fragile about the beating she had given the four men in the alleyway. He could still see the vacant look in her eyes as she had slammed her fist into the chubby man's face, as if she had shoved her conscience aside while she dispensed justice. Justice for two separate crimes. Though he didn't doubt the depth of Rogue's compassion—how did anyone turn away—the violence in that alleyway hadn't just been against the young woman's attackers. It had been against her own.
His fingers curled around a branch above him and clenched until the bark bit through his thin black gloves and dug into the skin of his palm. A slow rage was burning inside of him, building like steam in a pressure cooker. He hadn't been able to release any of it on the thugs; Rogue had too severely taken care of that problem. Anger mixed with disgust; a man who abused a woman was no man at all. He was fodder. Scum. Less. Without. In his mind, Remy shot backwards in time to the image of his Tante holding a towel full of ice against her face, white and red stripped cloth hiding the ugly purple bruise that had been hand delivered by some low-life from a rival guild. Through the eyes of a thirteen year old, Remy saw the rage ripple over Jean Luc's face just before he walked curtly from the room.
Tante was never touched again.
Remy relaxed slightly when he saw Kitty return to the room with the Professor and the Beast in tow. There really wasn't any reason for him to stay there. Except to get caught.
He felt something grab hold of his coat and before he could react, he was dragged down from his perch. His coat twisted around him awkwardly and as a result, he landed less nimbly then he had wanted and hard on his leg. Remy winced at the pain that whipped through his ankle and automatically reached into his coat for a card. There was the sound of metal scraping against metal and the young thief found himself with three claw-like blades inches from his face.
"Merci, but Remy already shave today, mon ami," he quipped, leaning back. A second hand reached out and grabbed hold of his coat lapels. Wolverine frowned and leaned forward, one bushy eyebrow raised.
"Ya missed a spot. What are ya doin' here gumbo?"
Somehow Remy got the feeling that the truth, as usual, would not set him free, so he smiled charmingly and wrenched himself free of the shorter man's grasp.
"It's a nice night. Felt like a walk in de park. De trees, de moon." He reached around to the back of his waist and took hold of his bo. With a flourish he spun it through his fingers and snapped it out to its full length. "De animals."
Narrowing his eyes, Wolverine growled lightly and three other claws extended from his second hand. "Careful bub. Or I might have to shred that pretty face of yours."
Comfortable in his insolence, Remy blew him a kiss. "En garde, mon ami."
Drawing his arm back, Wolverine launched himself forward and Remy braced himself for the onslaught. But it didn't come. Wolverine's arm froze in mid-air.
"Logan," came the Professor calm, stern voice.
Remy didn't hesitate. He bolted towards the mansion's gates, tossing a fare-thee-well card behind him.
_______
Old Man by Randy Newman
Bullet With Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins